


there's no one here but us

by leiascully



Series: A Thousand And One Nights [1]
Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One for the road?" she asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's no one here but us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trialia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trialia/gifts).



> Timeline: sometime after the filming of 6.13, references to the Confidential based on that episode  
> A/N: I did no research for this story at all; I have no idea what their actual lives are like or where they might live. This story presumes that Matt and Daisy broke up, because I didn't want to deal with infidelity on top of writing RPF. Thanks to **bendingwind** for the readthrough.  
>  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction that bears no resemblance to and claims no knowledge of the people about whom it is written.

They've been drinking, the four of them. Team TARDIS, Kaz calls them, which is something Matt suspects she picked up on the internet somewhere. It's a bit sweet and a bit silly, just like most of their parties. Tonight's involved a great deal of cider and possibly more than enough whiskey, but that never seems to matter. Even when he can't quite remember what they were talking about for all those hours, he still leaves with a warm, contented feeling. Eventually, though, it's time to be getting home, so there are hugs all around and then Arthur waves them off, probably on his way to buy terrible jumpers on eBay or wherever it is that he keeps obtaining them. Arthur's so far ahead in their Very Worst Jumper competition that Matt's nearly given up, but maybe there'll be something in the charity shop. For now, he just bundles himself into a peacoat and helps Kaz and Alex into their coats.

Matt and Alex and Kaz share a cab, all piled into the back in a contented tangle - not quite the usual arrangement, but it just seems right. They're boisterously, cheerfully drunk; Kaz and Matt sing bits of songs and Alex laughs at them and occasionally chimes in. They let Karen off at her flat and she blows them kisses, and then it's Alex's turn. She leans forward to give the driver directions and Matt rubs her back idly through her coat. They're affectionate, his Team TARDIS; after all those hours and all those adventures together, why wouldn't they be? Alex leans into his touch as she sits back, and he slings his arm companionably around her shoulders.

"Any big plans for the rest of the weekend?" he asks.

"Not especially," she tells him. "A hot bath. A good book. A couple of scripts to look over for things coming up."

He does his best not to imagine her in the bath and only fails a little bit. At least his imagination covers her in bubbles. Still, it's an appealing picture.

"You?" she asks.

"Oh, similar, yeah," he says. "Love a good bath and so on. Might play a little football if I can find a game going. The joys of the single life, eh? Not taking guff from anybody."

She gives him a tolerant, sympathetic smile and he smiles back wanly, trying not to let his eyes wander down her body. He's been having more and more difficulties with that the last while, not imagining her in various states of undress and relaxation, and the drink doesn't help that particular problem, and nor does his fairly recent singlehood. He reminds himself firmly that they're professionals, that they only play at being drastically in love. She's gorgeous, of course, and he's very fond of her - they work well together, and that's all there is. Mostly. Sometimes. Some moments, like now when she's tucked into the curve of his arm and leaning against him, he isn't quite sure what's real and what's pretend.

"Here's me," she says, as if he doesn't know her street by now. He's watched her to her door enough times he can count down the seconds until the light comes on in her window.

"See you around," he says, and kisses her on the cheek, just at the corner of her mouth, only lingering a little to catch the breath of perfume that rises from her skin. He's not sure what she's been wearing lately, but it's just as intoxicating as the whiskey they were drinking. She hesitates after opening the door, a night breeze ruffling her hair as she sits half-out of the cab.

"One for the road?" she asks.

Something's changing, Matt thinks, and it's as if the evening comes into sharper focus. There's a new flicker in Alex's eyes, and whatever's happening, it's better than going home to an empty flat. "Yeah, all right," he says, purposefully casual. He pulls out his wallet and pays the driver. Alex stands on the pavement, waiting and fidgeting a little on her high heels. Her fingers curl into his as they go into her building. He is glad that it is too dark for the photographers to be out. This is a personal moment, something he doesn't want to share with the world, just him and her, having a nightcap.

She opens the door and lets them in, locking it again behind them and hanging her jacket on a peg. He feels odd and a little awkward, stood there in the entryway taking off his coat, offering her an arm to balance against as she slips off her shoes.

"That's better," she says, curling her toes into the rug. He gazes at her bare feet as if he's never seen them. Not true - he's seen them loads of times, but just now, they look different, perhaps because they're her bare feet on her foyer floor in her flat in the middle of the night and he's not had the opportunity to see her take off anything in the comfort of her flat.

"What's your poison?" she says, going into the kitchen.

"Whatever you've got," he says. He wonders if he should take off his shoes. There isn't a rack or anything, though, just her shoes, one upright and the other tipped over. After a moment he shrugs and kicks off his shoes so that they sit next to hers, and then he wanders into the living room. She's got nice furniture, very comfortable; he flops on one end of the sofa and lays his arm along the back of it, trying to look at ease. She comes in with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, brandishing them at him with a smile.

"Figured it was best not to start mixing," she says. She sits down in the middle of the sofa and pours them each a healthy measure, handing him a glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers," he says, clinking his glass with hers and then tipping it to his lips. The whiskey burns slow and delicious down his throat. This is definitely the good stuff.

"Ah, Ms Kingston, you spoil me," he says fondly.

"I do my best," she teases him, and there's that flicker of something in her eyes again. She licks her lips and smiles at him. He can't help himself: before he can think too much about it, he leans forward, still holding his glass, crooks the fingers of his other hand under her chin, and kisses her.

Kissing her is a familiar sensation but always excellent. He's kissed her God knows how many times now, over and over until he almost forgets about the glass eye of the camera gazing at them, not to mention Kaz and Arthur and the rest of the cast and crew. Finally they're actually alone, truly the only two people in the room rather than just feeling as if they are. His hand cups her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone, the kiss all sweetness and barely parted lips, and then her hands come up to cradle his head and their mouths open. Her tongue slides against his and something catches fire in his chest, heating him all through and incinerating any doubts he might have had. He leans in closer, kissing her deeper and faster, and she returns every bit of his wanting with wanting of her own until they're pressed together on the couch, devouring each other, hands sliding and searching except that he's still holding the damn glass of whiskey and he needs that hand for other purposes.

He kisses her hard one last time and breaks away to set down the glass on her coffee table. She gazes at him, her eyes dark with need, and twists her hair away from her face. He's sure he's got the same wistful, hungry look on his face, but even if he didn't, there's substantial evidence of his desire offered by the new tightness of his jeans in certain areas. He shifts to ease the pressure, but it doesn't help much, because she's still there, looking like everything he's ever wanted.

"They say you shouldn't snog your coworkers," she says conversationally.

"They say a lot of things," he tells her. "Not really sure I care, though. What I want to know is what you say."

She smiles at him and dips her head. "Oh, sweetie," she says, and if their fantasy lives are bleeding into their real ones for a moment, he's all right with it. He's not quite sure about what reality is tonight anyway. She flattens her palm against his chest for a moment and then draws a line with her fingertip from his heart to the bottom of his ribs, wrinkling the fabric of his t-shirt. "I forget you're so young."

"I play old," he reminds her.

"You do, at that," she says, gazing at him.

He jitters his knees, full of restless energy, and they sit there on their separate cushions and stare at each other, the whiskey forgotten. He watches her chest rise and fall as she breathes. He looks at the flush on her cheeks and the tendrils of hair trailing over her face and the dreamy, wary, yearning look in her eyes and the worried little wrinkle in her brow. "I'll tell you," he says after a moment, "I don't give a damn what anybody else thinks. I've wanted to do that, to kiss you properly, for a long time. You and me, there's always been something there. I tried not to think about it, for one reason and the other, but it's always been there."

"Yes," she says quietly. "There's always been something. You're quite the flirt, for one."

"It was never all the Doctor," he says. "It wasn't just the script."

"No," she agrees. "There was us as well."

"So what shall we do about it?" he asks her. She's got more to lose than he does, which isn't fair, but it's true. She's a woman, and she's older than he is, and she's got her daughter to think of, and as much as he'd like to think that none of that will matter, it will, especially if things end badly. He can't even imagine that at the moment - all he wants is to hold her close and keep on holding her until the world starts crumbling around them - but he knows better than to imagine anything lasts forever, and he wants even more to protect her from harm. She's weathered enough in life already. So he waits and he hopes and he watches her.

"Kiss me again while I think about it," she says, and he's happy to comply. He starts out very slow this time, leaning carefully closer and closer until their lips just brush in a series of light glancing kisses, hardly more than pecks. His hand is on her waist this time, and he can feel her breathing get faster and faster. His other hand smooths back her hair, caresses her face, and slides down to her neck, his thumb tracing her collarbone. God, he wants to pull her down on top of him and just devour her mouth, and it takes all of his self control to keep his careful distance, only their knees touching.

He lets her be the one to deepen the kiss, her hands sliding up under his t-shirt to touch the skin of his stomach and make his whole body prickle into gooseflesh. He lets her be the first to part her lips so that they can feel the heat of each other's mouths. She sucks his lower lip into her mouth and nibbles on it and he strokes the side of her neck and traces the scooped neckline of her dress. Her fingers curl over his hip, easing under the waistband of his jeans, and her other hand slides to his thigh for balance as she leans forward and finally, finally her tongue brushes his and that same fire is lit in his chest again, burning away all his worries until the only thing he knows is his mouth and her mouth and the press of their bodies together.

"I really could kiss you all night," she breathes against his lips.

"And I you," he says. "I wasn't lying." He rubs his nose against hers, nuzzling at her face and her neck until she laughs a low, sexy, throaty laugh.

"There's the virtues of youth," she murmurs. "Incorrigible, you are."

"Madame, you'll never find a more enthusiastic volunteer," he promises, nipping her earlobe.

"A girl could get used to hearing that sort of thing," she says, her voice intentionally light. "I do believe you might be more than a bit dangerous, Matthew."

He holds her face carefully between his hands and looks deep into her eyes. "I am absolutely terrified," he says quietly. "This, us - frankly, I'm lucky I'm not pissing myself right now. I can't even tell you how thrilled and how bloody scared I am just to be here. Say the word and I'll take myself home, but I can assure you, Alex, this isn't a game for me. I mean every minute of it."

She pushes him backwards and he slides down into the corner of the sofa, stretching out underneath her, his hands sliding to her hips to steady her as she straddles him. Her skirt rides high up her thighs as she braces her knees on either side of him, and he groans at the pressure and the warmth of her body as she settles down carefully, her hips fitting perfectly against his.

"Just you wait," she says, looking very smug and very pretty as she reaches up to tie back the glorious mass of her hair. Her body rocks gently against his as she moves and he has to make a conscious effort not to thrust up against her - she's running this show. "I haven't even gotten your clothes off yet."

"Are we making a go of it, then?" he asks, loathe to distract her. "You and me?"

"The world can give us tonight," she tells him. "We'll talk about it in the morning." She leans down to kiss him and he doesn't know how it can be this damn magical every time their lips meet, but he isn't questioning it. He reaches up to cup her breasts and God, they're perfect even with the fabric of her dress and her bra between his hands and her skin. He runs his thumbs over her nipples and she moans quietly into his mouth. He can't get enough of her breasts and her mouth and the fragrance of her skin, and it's almost painful when she leans back and eases off him.

"Sit up," she commands, and he pushes himself up, leaning against the back of the couch. She swings her leg over his lap and settles down on top of him again; he shifts under her, relishing the way their bodies fit together. She hooks her fingers under the hem of his t-shirt and skins it off him.

"Much better," she says with satisfaction.

"Tit for tat?" he suggests, his fingertips creeping up under the edge of her dress, but she just winks at him.

"Wait your turn," she says, dipping her head to kiss his shoulders and his chest. He lets his head fall back onto the back of the couch, enjoying the damp heat of her mouth and the friction of her hands skimming over his skin. He runs his hands up and down her ribs and over her back, finding the clasp of her bra through her dress and unhooking it after only a couple of tries.

"Cheeky," she murmurs, but she sits back a bit and lets him run his hands over her breasts underneath her bra, just the dress between their skin now. He leands forward and buries his face in her cleavage, kissing and nuzzling, enjoying the way her grip tightens on his arms as he maneuvers her breasts out of the loose bra and finds her nipples with his tongue. The bra's in his way, but he manages.

"God," she says to nobody in particular, "bless your mouth."

"My mouth looks forward to making the acquaintance of every bit of you," he promises, the words a little muffled.

She nudges him gently away and does a delightful maneuver that involves sliding her bra straps down her arms one at a time and wriggling out of it without even taking off her dress. She tosses the thing over her shoulder without even looking. "There. Sorted."

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close again, rubbing his cheek across the tops of her breasts. She has the most incredible skin; he can't touch her enough to satisfy him. He wants every inch of that skin against him as soon as possible, but at the same time, he wants this to last and last. It might look different in the morning. They might see each other with different eyes. He ignores the increasingly desperate messages coming from his own body and devotes his attention to her breasts, caressing and kissing and licking as she moans quietly. Her fingers run through his hair and down over his shoulders, stroking his arms and his back as he takes her nipples gently between his teeth, barely even using pressure, just teasing her. From the way she draws in her breath and her knees tighten around his thighs, she seems to enjoy it. She kisses the top of his head, making little helpless noises that make her skin buzz under his lips.

He isn't sure how long they stay that way, but her skin is flushed by the time she leans back in the circle of his arms and her eyes are glazed with pleasure. His cock is throbbing for want of her, but he'll be damned if he neglects her. He eases one hand under the tight fabric of her skirt and she watches him with heavy-lidded eyes, her little smile urging him on. He draws little circles up the inside of her thigh, making her shiver. He strokes her through the damp fabric of her knickers and she bites her lip, looking down at him with a possessive, predatory expression. He hooks his finger around the fabric and actually touches her and they both groan. She's so fucking wet that he can't stop touching her. He eases two fingers into her and out again, finding her clit with his fingertips and drawing slow, easy circles around it.

"God yes," she says, her breath catching. "You really are rather good at all of this."

"I take direction very well," he tells her, and she laughs and then moans. There's not much room for his wrist to bend under the stretched-tight dress, but he's managing, maneuvering along her slick folds, his thumb on her clit now and his fingers exploring and teasing, barely dipping into her and then plunging deep. He strokes her slowly, tenderly, making her wait, trying to ignore how much he wants to bury himself inside her, their bodies merging. His new goal in life is to bring her off as many times as he can. He wants to hear her call out her pleasure. He wants to hold her close in the vulnerable moments afterwards. She's shaking a little now, her arms braced against the cushions behind him, which brings her breasts back within range of his mouth. Slow circles with his thumb, slow circles with his tongue, and her thighs are shivering, but he just carries on.

"Matt," she gasps.

"Go on then," he says, and buries his face against her, kissing along the lovely line of her collarbones. She wraps one arm around his shoulders, clutching at him, and he holds her close with the hand that isn't occupied with the careful, inexorable movements that are making her whole body shake. He murmurs encouragement into the hollow of her throat, telling her how gorgeous she is, how much he wants this, how much he has wanted it. She moans higher and louder, desperate sounds, and he tells her just how much that turns him on and how safe she is, how cherished, how glad he is that she's coming for him. She opens her mouth to say something but only manages a squeak; her eyes close and her body shakes hard, and he rubs her back and whispers to her. She sags against him, her head on his shoulder, panting into his neck. It takes several minutes for her inner muscles to stop clutching spasmodically around his fingers. When he grazes her clit pulling his fingers out, she jumps. He eases his slightly sore wrist out from between her thighs, wiping his fingers on his crumpled t-shirt and then patting her thigh.

"Oh," she sighs. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Waiting," he tells her.

"Well, you don't have to wait any longer," she says. She tries to push herself off his lap and ends up collapsed on the couch beside him, a crabby look on her face. He can't help laughing.

"Oh, yes, laugh all you like," she tells him. "You might as well be smug about it. It's all your fault that I'm weak in the knees."

"How will I ever make amends, I wonder," he teases. She glares at him. He gets up a little stiffly himself and bends to slip his arms under her. She makes a startled noise, but he picks her up anyway and carries her down the corridor.

"You twat," she says fondly, resting against his chest. "Showing off this way."

"That's me," he agrees. "A grade-A wanker. The absolute worst. Taking liberties with your person, sweeping you off your feet - it's a wonder you even put up with me. Which one of these doors leads to your bed?"

She points with her toes and he pushes the door open and carries her in, depositing her gently on the bed. She stretches luxuriously, gazing up at him.

"I'll give you this," she says. "You're a full-service establishment."

He pretends to touch his forelock. "Just glad you're appreciating the attention, marm."

"Oh, shut up," she tells him. "I'm still mostly dressed, and I think you ought to do something about it."

"With all possible speed," he promises, kneeling on the bed. He starts at her knees, kissing his way up her body, slowly rumpling her dress as he goes until he can ease it off over her head. He devotes a few moments to her incredible breasts. They're even better now that there's no fabric between him and them. He squeezes them gently and uses his tongue to make sure her nipples are standing out, rosy and perfect against her pale skin.

"That didn't seem like all possible speed," she says with a smile.

"Oh no?" he says, feigning surprise. "Well, I'll just have to keep trying." He kisses his way slowly back to her belly and lower, taking the edge of her knickers in his teeth and slowly dragging them down. She whimpers just a bit and lifts her hips so he can slide them off. He runs his nose and then his tongue over the crease of her thigh, groaning a little to himself.

"You don't have to..." she begins.

He lifts his head just enough to gaze up the vista of her body. "Ah, sweetheart, you weren't listening earlier, were you? I _want_ to. I want _you_."

"Carry on," she says, but the look on her face is thoughtful and it makes him want to shout at anyone who didn't cherish her the way she ought to be cherished. Instead, he lowers his lips to the insides of her thighs again, kissing her until she squirms and chuckles, and then he finds her clit with his tongue. She gasps and he pins down her hips with one forearm, licking along her folds; his other hand reaches up to caress her breasts. She's still slick under his mouth, tangy and salty and amazing, and the noises she makes as he explores her are enough to make him shift his hips against the bed. He fucks her slowly with his tongue, thrusting as far into her as he can get, enjoying the tightness of her cunt. God, he wants her all around him, but he can wait a little longer. He licks his way back up to her clit, relishing every moment. He loves the heat that radiates off her skin and the texture of her under his mouth and the way her thighs squeeze his shoulders as her pleasure builds. She's still sensitive from the first orgasm; a few minutes of his tongue are all it takes before her hips are bucking against his mouth. He sucks hard at her clit, letting her ride it out, and then kisses her hip tenderly. Next time, if there is a next time, he'll start with his mouth, because he's not sure he could ever get enough of her. He crawls up to lie next to her. She has her arm flung over her face and her chest rises and falls as she tries to catch her breath.

"I hope you're still pleased with the service," he jokes, stroking her hair.

She puffs out an incredulous breath. "More than," she manages. "Ridiculous man. Get your kit off."

He unbuttons his jeans and scrambles out of them, no easy chore when he's got an erection like a flagpole. He takes off his underwear and drops them too; he likes the sight of his things on her bedroom floor. She reaches into the drawer of the bedside table and tosses him a condom, and he rips open the wrapper and rolls the thing on. Her eyes are appreciative as she watches him. Ritual complete, he crawls back onto the bed. She smirks, rearranging herself a bit.

"Come on, then," she says, crooking her knee out and inviting him closer. He eases down over her body, taking it slow, not even trying to push into her yet. He kisses her thoroughly and she returns the kiss, stroking his back from his shoulders to his ass. She pulls his head down to her mouth.

"What are you waiting for?" she murmurs in his ear. "After all of that, you'd better still want to fuck me."

"God, yes," he manages to say.

"Then get to it," she tells him, reaching down to wrap her fingers around his cock. She guides him carefully in, spreading her legs to welcome him closer. He eases into her and they both give little groans of relief and pleasure. He has to pause, just holding himself still, because it's too good. They fit together as if they were made for each other, and just being in her, feeling the snug heat of her all around him, is almost more than he can bear. It's as much a revelation as the first time he ever had sex but much, much better. God, she's everything, and he wishes he could tell her. He looks down into her smiling eyes.

"I'm not fucking you," he informs her.

"Oh no?" she says, wrapping one long shapely leg around his hips. "Could have fooled me. But I suppose your generation has new terms for just about everything."

"This," he says decisively, "is _definitely_ making love."

"Ah," she says, but there's a new warmth to her smile.

"I'm making love to you, Ms Kingston," he tells her, and she laughs in delight.

"You really are incorrigible." She reaches up to stroke his face and his hair. He moves in her, as slowly as he can, wanting to savor every moment of it.

"Maybe I am," he says, "but I mean every bit of it. And I'm not so young as all that. I'm old enough to know a good thing, especially when I'm all wrapped up in it."

"Thank you, I think," she says, and draws his head down for a leisurely kiss. He thrusts carefully into her as they explore each other's mouths. She hums and moans as he moves, and he can't help moaning too. He wants it to last forever; he wants to feel the warmth and the shape of her body against his for always. He wants to wake up next to her. He wants to undress her every night like he's worshiping her. He wants to feel this connection between them, the heat of their bodies and the _rightness_ of the way they fit together. He has to concentrate hard to keep from coming just at the sight of her flushed, satisfied face and the way her expression changes as he moves in her. She's hot wet heaven, tight around him, and every time he thinks about the fact that he's inside her, his hips jerk and she moans again, her body rolling against his.

"God, you're incredible," he says, only half aware he's even talking. He's absolutely drunk on her.

"Likewise," she tells him, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Dear, dear Matt. You don't have to hold back on my account. I'm having a very good evening and I'd really quite like to see you come."

He almost loses it just hearing her say that, but manages to keep his rhythm steady. "That's good to hear," he tells her, "but I'm bringing you with me."

"Well, I won't say no," she says, her back arching as he shifts his weight and slips one hand between their bodies, finding her clit. "Oh, yes, _there_."

He kisses her again, wanting as much of her as he can get. She wraps her arms around him and holds him close as their bodies slide against each other. He's thrusting harder now, but she encourages him on, rocking her hips against his and kissing him fiercely. He's glad his mouth is stopped with hers because otherwise he wouldn't be able to stop the words spilling out, sentimental, ridiculous words that he can't say, not this first night and possibly not ever. His whole world is down to her and him, this bed, his tensing muscles and her trembling body under him.

"Alex," he warns her, mumbling against her mouth, his fingers moving frantically against her clit, but her nails are digging into his back and she's shaking under him, moaning into his mouth, so he lets go and sees stars.

"Ah, fuck," he says incoherently. "God, it's all you." She wraps her arms tight around him and holds him to her as his body jerks. Now it's her murmuring sweet nothings in his ear and he just wants to lie here in the circle of her arms, listening to her husky bedroom voice. He's half-aware that he's collapsed on her and that his hand is still wedged between their bodies, but she doesn't seem to mind. They're breathing in time and he can feel the thud of their hearts beating. He tucks his face against hers, kissing her lazily. It's a long few minutes until he can move again, easing out of her and rolling over beside her. She strokes his chest, smiling, her eyes heavy with satiation and sleepiness.

"Come on," she says. "You can't fall asleep just yet." He lets her haul him up and into the loo for a quick wash. She cleans her teeth and he borrows her mouthwash, the two of them leaning against each other in front of the sink. She splashes water on her face and clicks her tongue at their reflections. "Mister Smith, I do believe you're suffering from a terrible case of just-been-shagged face."

"Well earned, I hope," he says, and she offers him a minty kiss. He steals a glimpse at the two of them in the mirror: they make a pretty picture.

"Bed," she says, leading him back into the other room. He glances at his clothes, wondering if he should at least put his underwear back on, but she slides between the covers without seeming too worried about any of it, so he joins her, curling up against her warm smooth back. She turns her head and kisses him lazily and after that, he's asleep, out like a light.

He wakes up in the morning on his back with her arm and one leg thrown over him, her head nestled on his chest. She's smiling even in her sleep. He tries to stay very still, just watching her sleep with happiness bubbling up in him, but she stirs and opens her eyes.

"Hello," she says, her voice affectionate and sleepy.

"Hello," he says back, running his thumb over her cheekbone.

"You're still here," she says.

"Yeah, I am," he says. "Nowhere I'd rather be, really."

"Nowhere?" she asks.

He pretends to consider it. "Nah. Nothing worth getting up for when I've got all this right here." He picks up her hand off his chest and kisses her fingers.

"Not even a cup of tea?" she teases.

"Can we drink it right here?" he asks.

"I think that might be possible," she says, smiling, and he kisses her.

"It's morning," he reminds her. "You and me, eh. Had a bit of time to think about it, when I wasn't blowing your mind?"

She rolls her eyes at that one. "Too clever for your own good."

"All right, that was a bit much," he agrees. "But the question stands."

"One day at a time for now," she says, pushing herself up and smoothing back her hair. He drinks in the gorgeous silhouette of her in the morning light. She's so _real_ ; her body looks as if someone's actually lived in it and loved it. He can't wait to memorize every inch of her, mapping her out with his lips and his hands. He reaches out and rubs her thigh gently. She leans down and kisses him. "Things change too fast, sometimes. One day at a time and we'll see."

"Like the _Arabian Nights_ ," he says. "Every night, I'll convince you to give me another day."

She laughs. "I'm glad you relish a challenge."

"Every single minute of it," he promises. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," she says. Her eyes are bright. She gets up and finds a dressing gown, wrapping it around herself, and then comes back to the bed and kisses him lingeringly. "Let's have tea and something to eat and maybe a bath, and then I'll let you spend the rest of the day convincing me."

"Much better than football," he says, lacing his fingers through hers.

"I should hope so," she tells him. She squeezes his hand and lets go, padding over to the wardrobe to find another dressing gown, which she tosses to him. It's a bit tight around the shoulders and it does absolutely nothing to hide his erection, but he swings his legs over the side of the bed and puts it on anyway.

She tips her head at the door. "Come on. I can't give you too much of a head start on convincing me or else I'll give in entirely, and you're going to need your stamina, so we might as well start with breakfast."

"As you wish," he says, pausing on his way past her to kiss her until he's a little dizzy and a whole lot yearning. He rubs the curve of her waist through the silky dressing gown and slips an arm around her to pull her flush against him.

"Cheeky," she sighs. "It would be very easy to get used to this."

"Give in now," he suggests. "I'll just spend the day drinking tea and wallowing in your bed and watching football on telly and generally being a nuisance until you kick me out."

"Not a chance," she says with a smirk. "You're earning your tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he says, kissing her forehead and taking her hands in his.

"Good," she says. "Let's go put the kettle on."

They hold hands all the way to her kitchen and he's not sure he's ever been happier, but there's tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow to come, just like she said, and he's going to make every minute of it count.


End file.
